A Very British Poo Intervention... Stopped by GastroBalance!

My neighbour has a bulldog called Winston, which is exactly the sort of name you give a dog who looks as though he owns three pubs and disapproves of modern architecture.

Winston is a splendid animal: broad shoulders, enormous head, tiny legs, and the permanent facial expression of a retired colonel who has just discovered someone has put oat milk in his tea.

Unfortunately, Winston had one rather revolting hobby.

He ate dog poo...

Not his own, mind you. Apparently Winston had standards. He preferred whatever mysterious offerings other dogs had deposited along the pavement.

Every morning my neighbour would take him for a respectable walk around the neighbourhood. And every morning Winston would suddenly stop.

“Winston. No.”

Winston would stare at something on the pavement.

“Winston, leave it.”

Winston would look back at his owner with an expression that clearly said, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.

Then—CHOMP.

“WINSTON!”

Too late.

The evidence had disappeared...

My neighbour would stand there holding the lead, looking like a man whose faith in civilisation had finally collapsed, while Winston carried on down the street enormously pleased with himself.

Eventually, after one particularly shameful incident involving a fresh specimen outside the local café, my neighbour took Winston to the vet.

The vet examined him, asked a few questions and prescribed GastroBalance to sort out the problem.

A few days later, something remarkable happened.

Winston went for his morning walk.

He spotted a suspicious brown object beside a lamppost.

He stopped.

My neighbour stopped.

I happened to be nearby and stopped too.

It was like the final scene of a Western.

Winston stared at the poo.

The poo, presumably, stared back.

My neighbour tightened his grip on the lead.

“Don't you dare.”

Winston sniffed it.

We prepared for the worst.

And then...

He walked away.

My neighbour nearly burst into tears.

“GOOD BOY, WINSTON!”

Winston strutted down the pavement like a gentleman who had finally overcome a serious gambling problem.

The medicine GastroBalance Coprophagia Relief had apparently done its job. From then on, Winston lost interest in his disgusting street snacks.

He still sniffs everything. He still occasionally tries to eat leaves, tissues and objects of uncertain legal status.

But dog poo?

Absolutely not.

Winston is a changed man.

These days he passes it with dignity, barely giving it a glance.

Although sometimes he looks back.

Just once.

Like an old sailor remembering the sea.